Chosen Limit

Part of the weather just crumbles
              the other part slides past liturgical
sonnets
& waxfoot benedictions where
                              high tide still has things swamped out

& my heart otherwise unspecified
              folded into the pavement, the
taquerias
& blue sky palm fronds
                              spilling rust

like a mudslide on the moral high road

It takes a sharp blade to butterfly emotion
              you'll have to trade in the pocket knife for a
samurai sword